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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27492478">crossing out the good years</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/asixnprince/pseuds/asixnprince'>asixnprince</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>15x18 coda, Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Despair, M/M, a oneshot for now, gay sadness, might become a multi chapter fic, too many impactful one liners</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:08:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,585</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27492478</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/asixnprince/pseuds/asixnprince</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It was Sam, in the end.</p><p>Sam’s always there at the end. With him, always.</p><p>God, it feels like the end.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>86</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>crossing out the good years</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is very short and sad and this is my first time so please go easy on me</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was Sam, in the end.</p><p>Sam’s always there at the end. With him, always.</p><p>God, it feels like the end.</p><p>Dean couldn’t bring himself to pick up the phone, so he had no idea how long he just sat there. Minutes, days, hours. The tears had run dry ages ago, and he had progressed to hiccupping, the kind of childish anguish that he hadn’t experienced in years.</p><p>And that’s how Sam found him when he came back to the bunker.<br/>Dean was pretty aware of how he looked. All snot and tears, probably. He hadn’t moved from where he had been tossed aside, when Cas…</p><p>“Dean?”</p><p>Dean didn’t think he could talk right now. He didn’t think he could move, breathe. It all hurt. But he would try, for Sam.</p><p>“Dean?” Sam gripped his shoulder a little tightly, bending down to look him in the eyes. Dean took him in, his furrowed brow, the way he visibly shook. It all registered somewhere far away.</p><p>He hiccupped again in answer. Sam’s face smoothened out. Dean didn’t know if he understood, or…</p><p>“Can you stand?” was all the warning that he got before he was gripped under his arms and hauled to his feet. “C’mon, just.. come with me. Let’s get you some water. Let’s..”</p><p>Dean let himself get dragged to the kitchen. He distantly registered Jack -<em>Oh, god, Jack</em>- looking at him with concern as he hurried behind them, while his own feet shuffled forward as his brother tugged him down .the corridors and stairs of the bunker. He was moving, but he was also not. A part of him stayed behind in that room, maybe, he had to go back, he had to go get it back-</p><p>Dean collapsed into a seat as soon as he reached it, Sam setting a beer in front of him soon after. He doesn’t touch it.</p><p>The minutes tick by, Sam and Jack’s presence oppressively comforting. He hates it, he hates it so damn much.</p><p>“Dean.” The silence stretches on. “Dean. What happened.”</p><p>Now, see, Dean wants to answer Sam. He does. He just can’t.</p><p>Sam sighs, and looks down to the table. His shoulders slump, and he exhales sharply again. Jack fidgets next to Dean, and then asks the unthinkable.</p><p>“Where’s Cas?”</p><p>Dean doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything right now. He doesn’t know his own name, He doesn’t know where he is. He just. Doesn’t know anything.</p><p><br/>He shakes his head, and Sam and Jack immediately assume the worst.</p><p>The way both of them sharply inhale at the same time would be funny, probably, Dean thinks. Or not. He can’t be bothered to feel right now.</p><p>“Fuck.” Dean watched on as Sam’s jaw clenches as he looks up, trying to digest this news. Jack stopped fidgeting next to him, has stopped breathing. Like it hurts to breathe. Dean can empathise.</p><p>“Was it Billie?” Jack starts. God, there is so much they don’t know, and Dean is going to have to explain every excruciating detail. But his throat is dry and his tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth and he didn’t even get to say it, <em>he didn’t get to say it, and Cas said it, and said goodbye, the bastard, he said goodbye and I couldn’t say anything, and he pushed me and he was gone, and he’s gone because of me, because he loved me, because he was a fool, because I-</em></p><p>Dean shook his head slowly.</p><p>“Oh… so it was Chuck. He’s-he… took everyone…”</p><p>Maybe he could let Sam just assume it was Chuck, then he wouldn’t have to explain how its all actually his damned fault, all of it. But, fuck, Cas… he was Sam’s friend too, Sam deserves to know.</p><p>Dean shakes his head again.</p><p>Sam blinks, and frowns again. His forehead seems to have developed permanent wrinkles. His younger brother looks so old. Dean doesn’t feel older right now. He feels… He feels.</p><p>“It was the Empty?”</p><p>Both Dean and Sam turn to Jack, and Jack- <em>Fuck, that’s Cas’ eyes, that’s his eyes, how is that possible, that’s-</em></p><p>Jack looks even sadder, even more like him, and Dean feels his face do something ugly, his throat trying to force out more tears as it sits like a stone, and he doesn’t have any more tears to give, not today, not now.</p><p>“How- I don’t understand, how-“</p><p>Jack starts to explain, and What the fuck. He knew, he knew about this joke of a deal, Cas did it to save him, and he never told anybody-</p><p><br/>A wave of absolute rage sweeps him away, stills him as his nails dig into the wood of the table, Jack’s voice echoing around in his brain but he didn’t hear anything. Dean is choking with it, ready to grab Jack by the hair and simply smash his face into the table.</p><p>“-I don’t know how.. how he was happy, though. He told me he was.. far from it. Far from being happy. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…” Jack ducks his head, shoulders shaking slightly, and just like that, all of his anger evaporates.</p><p>
  <em>Happiness isn’t in the having, it’s in the being. It’s in just saying it.</em>
</p><p>He said. He said the thing that must never be spoken. Not in this life, maybe the next, but not in this one. He said it, and then he-</p><p>“Goddamnit, Cas.” Sam clenched his fists, his voice sounding watery. Dean has always instinctively responded to that voice, that tone, something like a mother, and why should now be any different?</p><p>Except it is. Except his body doesn’t respond, just allows his hand to twitch in Sam’s direction and nothing more. Like that was all the energy he had at that moment, and that’s all the life he is allowed right now. Fortunately Sam notices, and he understands. He doesn’t make a big deal of it, and simply places his hand over Dean’s. Dean itches. He wants to hold Sam’s hand tighter, hold Jack’s, and he wants to fall into his brother <em>once</em>, make use of his bigger frame and older and wiser looks and just be the younger one, just be allowed to fall apart for one minute, because he cant be assed to put up a front right now, he can’t, he’s weak, he’s <em>daddy’s blunt little instrument</em> and what Cas said was wrong and not true, because that means the rest of it would be true, and it’s not, not like this. Not like this.</p><p>Jack looks at him, waiting for him to explain, to elaborate, but the minutes stretch on in blessed or cursed quietness. Finally, he stands up, and almost runs out of the room, seemingly unable to bear any more of it. Sam jerks, makes as if to follow him, but looks at Dean and sits back down. He simply averts his eyes and picks at the label of the beer bottle, wet from condensation. Sam sighs, and stands up again, slowly, deliberately, and leaves the room, footsteps heavy in the direction Jack just ran off.</p><p>Dean sits there, fingers falling from the bottle, pushing it away. He should get up. He should. But its so damn hard, and he feels so damn weak.</p><p>After maybe an age, or two, Dean hears Sam enter the kitchen again. A bottle of… something is placed on the table. Maybe whiskey. Dean can’t see the label.</p><p>Sam pours one out and slides it to him. It bumps against his knuckles. Dean pays it no mind. He might need it later, but right now, he can’t forget. He has to remember. He needs to remember.</p><p>“Jack… he thinks it’s his fault. He thinks he should have told us.” <em>Obviously. But.. Jack isn’t why he died.</em><br/>“I told him it isn’t, but he’s.. of all the traits he has to learn from us, I think he took to self-deprecation like a duck to water.” Sam huffs, like its funny. Maybe it is. “He said Cas.. he had to be happy. Dean.”</p><p>God, this was awkward. How was he supposed to tell Sam that-that he-</p><p>Sam took his own glass and gulped down the contents. Dean still can’t speak. Its like Cas took his voice along with his heart. He can’t feel it beating.</p><p>Sam’s face crumples like so much tissue paper, and he trembles. And this isn’t fair to him, he’s lost Eileen, he’s lost Rowena, and Dean should be comforting him, but what is he supposed to say? <em>I’m sorry? That both of us lost the only reason our lives were worth living? The people that we would try and live for?</em></p><p>When Eileen came back, Dean decided that it was time for him to adapt to the times. It would be outright rude if he didn’t bother to take the effort to communicate properly to his sister-in-law-of-sorts, right? So Sam started learning ASL, and Dean started learning it from Sam. He took it up pretty quickly, and it was fun, too, to learn and compete with his oversmart little brother over who can talk more faster and more fluidly in ASL. Sam kept beating him by a mile, but Dean isn’t half bad either.</p><p>Sam had to know. He had every right to know. Dean had to tell him, even if his tongue was a dead weight in his mouth, and his throat mangled by the raw anguish of his silence. Raising his hands, Dean pushed the glass in front of him away, untouched. He raised a finger to his forehead, like he was swiping away imaginary sweat, hands moving slow, and trembling.</p><p>
  <em>Because of me.</em>
</p><p>Sam looked confused, at first, not exactly registering his brother using another language, so Dean did it again. And again. Till his eyebrows shot up in recognition.<br/>“Of you?” he whispered, not quite asking him, just tasting the weight of the words in his mouth.</p><p>Dean’s hands moved faster, jerkily. He wonders if he’s having a stroke.</p><p>
  <em>He said he loved me. He looked at me, and told me that it was an honour to love me, or some bullshit, and then-</em>
</p><p>Sam’s jaw hung open, eyes wide. Dean’s knuckles felt like rusty joints, but saying it makes it real, and he can’t say it, he won’t.</p><p>
  <em>I couldn’t say it back.</em>
</p><p>Of course Dean loved him back. Dean loved him. He knew that Cas- Cas. He knew that Cas felt the same way. He knew it like how he knew stars are made of hydrogen, that the moon once crashed into the earth, that grass and trees made their own food. Things he knew to be true, but couldn’t prove.</p><p>And then Cas went and proved it anyway. Big, impossible, brilliant bastard he is.<br/>He proved it with his own death.</p><p>Sam was doing his best impression of a gaping fish. A six-foot, worried, gaping fish. There was a movie like that, wasn’t there. The guy in the movie was as tall as Sam, and Dean wanted to show it to him sometime to make fun of him. Guess he forgot.</p><p>The minutes ticked by, fluid and fast and slow, the clock in the kitchen struggling to keep up with the thick, viscous way time seemed to swirl and whirpool into one moment, and then flowing free the next. It reminded Dean of the way he could fit several of his heartbeats into the moment the Empty came, black sentient oil polluting, slithering, and then gone.</p><p>Dean didn’t know when he closed his eyes, but the burn of tears behind his eyes was starting anew. God, he thought he was wrung dry, but his body always seems to have more, even when his soul has less than nothing to give.</p><p>A broad palm settled between his shoulder blades, sliding over his clothes to grip firmly at his arm. Sam- Sam was. Hugging him. He didn’t even know when he moved, just knew that Sam was trying to hold him up, and Dean was very sorely tempted to simply give in.</p><p>Well, he’s only human, after all.</p><p>An ugly, broken sound left his lips, and he sagged sideways like Atlas finally collapsing from the weight of the world, and cried. There is nothing cathartic about this, each sob collapsing into a quiet hitch of breath in his throat as he tried not to shake apart and failed, his own eyes trying to bleed out through his tightly shut eyelids as he cried and cried and cried with Sam’s henley growing wetter beneath his face. Sam just held him tighter, both arms holding him in a vice grip, and Dean didn’t know how he wasn’t in pieces, broken shards making Sam’s hands bleed because <em>the very touch of him corrupts, when Castiel first laid a hand on him in hell, he was lost!</em></p><p>
  <em>Ever since I pulled you out of hell, knowing you has changed me.</em>
</p><p>God, he didn’t even know why or how he remembered all of this, his subconscious somehow unearthing all these terrible memories just to torment him, torture him, and this, this is why he drank till he passed out, why did he not just take what Sam offered him and simply just not feel, because God help him, he felt too much and nothing at all.</p><p>~*~</p><p>Castiel wished he was asleep.</p><p>He was lying down, and his eyes were indeed closed, but he was not experiencing the complete blackout, the lack of sense of self he was promised.</p><p>Maybe this was the Empty’s way of making him suffer. For being the first to wake them up. For being an unavoidable pain in the ass since creation itself. For being.</p><p>No, this time, it wasn’t an immediate blackness. It was slow, like a hole in a boat, unnoticeable at first, till your feet are in a puddle. Memories, feeling, his soul, his grace, all of it being swallowed by inky indecipherable blackness, dissolved in acid. Castiel was panicking, grasping at something, anything, to keep himself, to hold <em>Cas</em> and <em>Sunshine</em> and <em>Angel</em> but it slipped through his fingers like so much sand and stardust. He was conscious, he was alive, to see himself die.</p><p>This was so much more worse than he thought it would be.</p><p>But still, being at peace meant accepting, right? And after all these years, and all the blood on his hands, Cas felt like he should be happy. He’s suffering, probably like all his brothers suffered when he killed them, which should mean peace, and a slate wiped clean.</p><p>But he doesn’t regret it. He should, but he doesn’t, because they didn’t know what it was like to live. To love. They didn’t understand the effect Dean had on him, and they feared it. So they all tried to kill it, and cut it out of him, but how could they? When Dean is who made him, broke him, and filled his cracks with molten gold?</p><p>The only way to get Dean out of him was to kill him, erase him completely. And the Empty was doing just that.</p><p>Eternal bliss, forever sleep. It’s all a damn scam, and the only thing Castiel regrets right now is not living.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <br/>
    <em>What is this selfish intent of yours<br/>That you pick neither the sun nor the shade<br/>What is this selfish intent of yours<br/>That your feet don’t stay anywhere<br/>You tried being your own god<br/>And crossed all seven seas<br/>But your heart still seems dry<br/>Why is it so?<br/>-Kabira </em>
  </p>
</blockquote>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>might continue this if buckleming don't disappoint in ep 19 so &lt;3 also yes the title is from miss swift's my tears ricochet</p></blockquote></div></div>
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